


Ladylike

by FallenGracex



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Makes Sense, Arranged Marriage, Badass Petyr, Badass Roose as always, Badass Sansa, F/M, Loss of Virginity, More Tags May Come Later, Porn With Plot, Sansa gets a special training, Shameless Smut, Slow Burn, Underage Sex, and all kinds of sex in general, and without, don't hate the flayer hate the game, i've read too many Roose/Sansa fanfics to not write one myself, what if the Bolton plot actually made sense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-13 15:29:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20176576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenGracex/pseuds/FallenGracex
Summary: Even with Sansa in his hands, Littlefinger's hold on the North isn't strong enough. The Boltons being the last checkpoint on his path to power and Ramsay's cruel tendencies spreading across the land make him come up with a new scheme. A doppelgänger is sent to Winterfell to tie the knot with Ramsay Bolton. The real Sansa Stark remains in The Vale and gets ready for another part of the plot - to marry Lord Roose Bolton and get rid of him as soon as possible.





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What if the Bolton plotline actually made sense, unlike the utter mess we got in the show? This is an attempt of redemption. 
> 
> Even though there will be a bit of creepyship in the beginning, the Main Pairing Award of this fic still belongs to Roose and Sansa. She'll be off to Winterfell in no time, don't worry. ;) This story will contain some pretty dark themes and scenes (in a sort of good way), but I'll warn you in advance. Enjoy the prologue and let me know in the comments if the story is to your liking, it will be much appreciated.

With his wide range of brothels spread across the capital, it wasn't very hard to scout a redheaded demon. On the other hand, finding a whore both twisted enough to agree to his plan and accordingly innocent-looking was much more of a task for Petyr Baelish. Eventually, a girl, ready and willing to ruin her dear life, was found in the depths of Flea Bottom. Most of Petyr's investment into his own establishment turned against him as soon as he displayed his generous offer amongst his girls. None of them were interested in being massacred by a bastard boy known for his sadistic desires. At that point, Baelish had to set his expectations a lot lower and degrade himself by waltzing down the streets of the filthiest part of King's Landing.

And there she was, delicious in her own way, fair and young with head full of fiery red curls. Not as delicious as Lady Sansa, but the mad dog didn't deserve any kind of gift from the hands of his future destructor. She was not a whore, though. Just a simple common girl, probably an orphan, trying to survive in the streets of King's Landing. Poor thing. Petyr Baelish was close, painfully close to fulfilling his own dream - to gain a massive amount of power, all that with Sansa by his side. It required an awful lot of investment from both him and her, but Lady Sansa was quick and witty and it didn't take him long to inject the thought into her curious brain. _You've been a bystander all your life. Stop being a bystander. You loved your family. Avenge them. _The sweet words poured from his tongue and Sansa's teary eyes couldn't look away. The Tully blue in them has shifted and that was when Petyr knew that she was his to play with. To _teach_.

***

Once more, he passed the Bloody Gate with a girl with auburn hair hidden under her hood. This time, she held no title, no highborn ancestry, only a good amount of sadness and despair in her heart. He promised her _much_ higher standarts of living, the thought of becoming a Lady of a noble house did wonders. The poor girl was more than eager to participate. To her sorrow, she may learn about the wrongness of her decision in no time._ But what does it matter,_ Lord Baelish thought, _if Sansa remains unharmed. _The viper and his pawn entered The Eyrie. The guards had no idea of what plan Petyr was bearing in his mind, nor they showed any kind of displeasure with bringing an unknown girl in their territory. After all, Lord Protector of the Vale was a respected figure, not prone to be played with.

"Lady Sansa," he drawled as soon as he saw her. Sansa's head shot up and her lips parted in surprise. She was sitting on the small wall next to the Moon Door, its entrance wide open, the winds howling and the mountains dangerously prickling the surrounding clouds. She stood up and curtsied to Lord Baelish, just a second before she slowly moved towards the girl next to him. Sansa carefully removed her hood and revelaed her hair, completely startled. 

"The shade is considerably close to yours, Sweetling," Lord Baelish said, visibly proud of his discovery. Sansa turned her head to look him in the eye, then moved back to stare at the girl.

"What's your name?"

"Sansa, m'lady."

Sansa shook her head in disgust. 

"No, your real name."

"I don't have any real name, m'lady."

Sansa marched towards Lord Baelish, the dark-haired snake's mouth curled up in a smirk. He was definitely satisfied with his pawn, with _both_ of them. The fake Sansa just stood there, glancing around the hall, dutifully avoiding the Moon Door.

"You've already taught her..." How to act like a broken toy? Did he train her in the innocent, doe-eyed look? Did he tell her about all the sufferings Sansa went through? She was still uncertain about how this plan will play out. Ramsay Bolton may be a dull prick, but his father wasn't. Roose Bolton, amongst the common folk also known as Tywin Lannister of the North, definitely wasn't like his son. At least in terms of wits. What were the other aspects of his mind, Sansa didn't know. _Excluding the traitorous murderer_, Sansa thought, her heart sagging into her stomach. "How is she supposed to remember everything about me? What about the knowledge of other noble houses, their words, their sigils? What about my family, there's no way we could get through this, Lord Baelish."

His hand raised to cup her cheek. Sansa stared in his relaxed face, the look in her eyes stiff and piercing. He always looked so uninterested, so out of place. He probably day-dreamed most of the time, along with the wheels of his brain spinning in hurry when a new piece of information was given to him. Petyr Baelish was a strange man. His ambitions were written all over his handsome face, yet Sansa couldn't dig in.

"Worry not, Sansa. I've taken care of everything." _He_ said that, so it as well might be true. Sansa had no other option but to trust him completely. He dragged her out of King's Landing in the first place. He killed her mad aunt for her. Her mind couldn't think of anything wrong he might be planning for her. His soft fingers felt like silk against her worried face, the metal kiss of his rings imprinting itself into her cheek like a brand. _He should imprint himself into that other girl, too,_ Sansa thought.

"Is she at least a maid, Lord Baelish?"

Both of them turned to face the fake Sansa. The girl nodded slowly.

"I'll call a maester to inspect her," Petyr murmured. 

_Maybe you should inspect her yourself, Lord Baelish._ Sansa didn't dare to say that. The imagine of her doppelgänger, spread wide across the bed, with Lord Baelish between her thighs, his ringed fingers curling deep inside, her pained moans implying that she truly was a maid sent a shiver of desire down Sansa's body, piling in her stomach. She'd never admit it, never to _him_, but she wanted the girl to experience what she couldn't have. A traitorous thought crossed her mind, but Sansa shooed it instantly. Even though her fingers curled inside her shoes with desire, she could never submit to him. Even though she wanted to.

Petyr caught her flaming gaze and his own eyes darkened to the point Sansa could no longer see any of the grey-green in them. His orbs turned into two gaping pits full of seductive darkness, waiting for Sansa to jump in and let herself be devoured. She quickly tore their eye contact and sat back beside the Moon Door, her hair gently swaying in the pouring wind.

"Come, girl. I'll escort you to your chambers myself," Petyr offered to the King's Landing _prisoner taken away _and Sansa found herself shifting uncomfortably. Lord Baelish glanced over his shoulder as his hand lingered on the small of her back. His eyes pierced her, the two dark orbs lured her to join them, but Sansa resisted and instead, internally moaned when the dampness started to grow between her legs. _He might as well be able to read my mind._


	2. Vanguard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr Baelish drops his bait in Winterfell and struggles with some Bolton knowledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was REALLY fun to write. Feels great to get inside the minds of two genius men and let them mentally battle each other, ahhh. x

It felt strange. Sansa ended up alone in The Eyrie, only the sickly little boy by her side - mentally, slowly dying in his bed - in reality. Petyr already left with her fake self and went on a long journey to the North to seek the girl's doom. How could she agree to it? It was completely twisted and mental, no person with respect for the other people would have said yes to that plan. But Sansa did. When Petyr came up with his _genius_ plan, she felt like that could be the only way to get rid of her demons. Every memory of her suffering in court came back in spirals, leaving her in an endless circle of agony. She felt it all over again, every bruise returned and felt alive, fresh, bleeding. Every insult from the Queen or Joffrey, it all crawled through her head like it was seconds after she's heard it. Petyr promised her redemption. Petyr promised her revenge. Why some unknown girl's life suddenly mattered to her so much? She didn't even have a name. Or did she?

Sansa had a strong urge to immediately send a raven to Petyr and beg him to come back. Maybe she'd even tell him to take her to Winterfell, her _real_ self, so she could experience another round of pain. She felt like letting someone else sweat blood and get completely _fucked up_ by the horrors to come was extremely selfish. Her Stark sense of morality snaked back in place. The sign that she was out of the game for too long. Her mind got used to the terrible fuckery she was exposed to, she set herself into the survival mode and learned to live that way. Now she was safe and it felt strange. Safety felt like something was actually wrong. _This _was wrong.

Sansa needed the thrill of danger to feel comfortable. 

It scared her. The new knowledge drilled her bones with fear. To wipe out the strange thoughts, she decided to go for a quick night walk. She roamed the castle like a ghost unable to rest. Her soul needed release, she needed to do something useful. This newly acquired safety consumed her from the inside._ I'm putting my family in shame,_ Sansa thought as she crossed between the castle and the "underground" quarters. She went one level downstairs. The prison was empty. Last time someone lived there was when Tyrion Lannister got accused by her aunt. From that moment, not a living soul went there. The walls were damp, wet stone echoed the quiet tears of fresh mountain water that rolled down and settled on the ground in small puddles. Sansa quietly stepped past all the chambers, remnants of moldy old straws scattered all over. She's found the most distant chamber and sat on the floor. Sansa felt small, a tiny human toy, threatened by the open space in front of her. One step and she'd _fly._

The moon iluminated her pale face and set her hair on fire. Silver tongues of flames danced across her red locks, leaving them in a steel fog of the moonlight. She looked forward to meeting Lord Bolton. She looked forward to the black raven sending her a message that will set things in motion - that the doppelgänger is _gone_. 

***

Petyr Baelish and his convoy of knights slowly but surely approached Winterfell. The North was build on the endless luscious green moors, air was crisp and chilly. Completely different than the South, but not so unlike The Vale. As they finally reached the gates, first thing that crossed Littlefinger's sight were the Bolton sigils hanging from the walls of the castle. _There'll be Stark banners soon,_ he thought as he nodded at a guard closest to him and the man started shouting at his companions.

"Open the gate!"

Flayed men rumbled against the stone walls, red and pink and black punched against dull grey. A good reminder of the superior position of House Bolton. Petyr smirked at one of the banners.

They all gathered in the courtyard. Lord Bolton marched in the front of a long line of people, with his son Ramsay in his back like an obedient dog with a mad flash in his pale blue eyes, followed by a veil of maids and other servants. Roose Bolton quietly nodded at Petyr Baelish. His expression felt like a steel armor, but his grey eyes were dangerously soft, like molten metal, gently crossing each person in front of him. A wolf in sheep's clothing, quiet like the skies before a storm. 

The introduction was quick and sharp. Petyr made sure his little pawn was feeling as comfortable as possible, knowing this experience was her first and last as well. She was soon dismissed to her chambers. The two lords were suddenly alone, completely invested into one another, possibly trying to read each others thoughts. Petyr's gaze was a bit more readable, his eyes flickering in his usual sinister way. Lord Bolton, on the other hand, haven't even flinched since the Vale duo arrived. His expression was completely stable, actually, it wasn't even there. His features were a solid steel, only the warm touch to his eyes could fool someone into thinking that the man was harmless. Lots of people thought that man's eyes tell everything about him. Well, it didn't apply to Lord Bolton.

"How were your travels, if I may?" His voice was a deep velvet blanket of vowels, syllables and words, absolutely calm and comforting in its own way. It wasn't hard to get lured into fake assumptions when he spoke. 

"The journey was quite long, my lord. Lady Sansa was doing great, actually. She's still a little bit out of this world. But I think you understand that, Lord Bolton, knowing what the poor girl went through during her days in the capital." 

Roose Bolton smirked. 

"I can imagine," he said, eyeing Lord Baelish carefully. "One might say she's not even... herself anymore," he added, slowly teasing each letter of the last two words. Petyr nodded, a playful grin on his lips, as his mind wheeled and wheeled deeper into his plan. The connections between the points he made in his head could almost be seen as little flashes of electricity, the neurons in his brain worked quite hard. 

"Recovery from such horrors might take long, Lord Bolton. I'm sure you'd agree, considering the loss of your late heir. Such a shame and a grieving pity." Another flash. He almost thought he was winning. Petyr's eyes glistened with excitement. He loved drama. More so when he could cause it himself. What he didn't know was that Lord Bolton was very good at armoring himself from emotional attacks, such as this one. _Corny,_ he thought, watching Petyr's face with a quiet reserve, his eyes almost amused. 

A shadow of a person shifted through the courtyard, dressed in nothing but some dirty old rags. That figure's motions were abrupt and confused, like it was trying to avoid an unseen hit from someone else's harsh hand. The persona quickly stumbled it's way to the castle and a glimpse of greying brown hair caught Petyr's attention. Before that person could disappear in the darkness of one of Winterfell's halls, he quickly turned, as to check whether the air was clear. Petyr narrowed his eyes, but before he could recognize him, the shadow disappeared. Petyr slowly blinked as he tried to process what he just saw. 

"Yes, Lord Baelish, I almost forgot - accept my condolences."

Petyr's jaw tensed up.

"My dear wife's death is very heartbreaking. Thank you, Lord Bolton."

"I see. Now that you've become Lord Protector of The Vale, it must be _so_ hard to cope with." The sarcasm was dripping off his voice. Roose Bolton was clever enough to reveal the truth behind Petyr's true relationship with his late wife, more so the very tendencies that led him to the marriage itself. "You're a respected man now, Lord Baelish. Why gamble with your position?" 

"Every ambitious move is a gamble," Petyr drawled, "you gambled when you rode a dagger into Robb Stark's heart." Petyr paused and glanced around. "It looks like your gamble paid off," his eyes fixed back to Lord Bolton.

"I had Tywin Lannister backing. Who supports me now? _You?_"

Lord Baelish turned the corner of his lips upwards, but his eyes hardened.

"The Eyrie is mine," Petyr shrugged. "Actually, Lord Bolton - would you mind if I borrowed one of your ravens? Urgent message from the Queen."

"I'd like to read the reply," Lord Bolton said and walked around Petyr, gently bumping into him with his shoulder. Petyr turned around and watched his majestic figure wrapped in furs slowly retreat, eyes burning with anger. He had to admit that he underestimated him. Roose Bolton was as much of a player as him.


End file.
